Harvey Stonewall (loveislove) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2010-05-07 15:04:00 |
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Entry tags: | democratic party, lgbtq culture |
Who: Glibt and Mark.
What: Blackouts and riots and ex-lovers, oh my!
Where: Brownstone 2.0
When: Early afternoon.
Warnings: Language, alcohol.
Trying to sleep on a cot in a room filled with scared teenagers hadn't helped Glibt to feel rested. What did, though, was trying to sleep across the room from an immortal who had died for his cause and was now back from the dead to continue working for his cause. It was that little bit of strength - Harvey wouldn't feel a loss, it was more his existence and proximity that refreshed Glibt - that made him able to get up in the morning, check on the injured, and then slowly make his way back to the house, picking his way through the few remaining riots, avoiding looters, and trying not to feel utterly exhausted. At least, however, he had managed to escape the blackout and the subsequent riots without any grave injuries; there were bruises, yes, and a split lip that had occurred when he had been trying to fish a gay teenager out of a riot, but, for the most part, Glibt had escaped relatively unscathed, although he did smell faintly of blood, sweat, and fear.
Which was why, when he finally managed to reach the house, he went straight for the shower even though he could feel Mark's presence in the living room. He wanted to wash the previous day from his body and mind before he had to talk about Harvey with his boyfriend. They had said they wouldn't fight, and Glibt really didn't want to fight, but he didn't trust if it would actually happen. There were bound to be questions; why hadn't he told Mark about Harvey's reappearance earlier, what had happened when Glibt had seen him, why hadn't he spent the night at home? Glibt didn't really have answers for them and, as he showered, he wasn't able to develop any. Sighing lightly as he left the shower and dressed in clean, comfortable clothes, he closed his eyes as he leaned against the wall of the hallway, reaching out to his people and stealing a second of sleep from thousands of them. When he had enough to equal about six hours of sleep, he straightened up, the bags under his eyes gone and his skin less pale and wan. Much better.
Glibt stalled, though, fishing out an apple from the back of the fridge and eating it quickly and resisting the urge to reach out to his people and ascertain just how many fresh gaps there were in their ranks; the death toll was something he'd think about later, when there were no more living to help. And with that thought, he took two bottles of beer from the fridge, one for him and one for Mark, and padded quietly toward the living room. Sinking down at the opposite end of the couch from Mark, he tried not to look too relieved at the sight of his boyfriend unharmed and instead offered him a tentative smile as he leaned forward to also offer him a bottle of beer.